


Skill

by lovethecoat51



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 21:34:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2522576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovethecoat51/pseuds/lovethecoat51
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>my bestie and i took a trip to copenhagen. we both used to RP as james and artie, and we decided to have a warehouse day and run around pretending we were the boys again. i wrote this fic for that day (we visited each of the spots that they do in the fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [therealmccoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealmccoy/gifts).



Artie was tired. He was _exhausted_. His feet hurt, his back ached, and his brain could barely form a full sentence as he trudged down the second floor of the bed and breakfast. He was so drained that he was actually falling face first into the wrong bed. On autopilot, he had gone straight for his old room - not the one across that hall that he now shared with James. One that they had been sharing for nearly a month now, though they had precious little time to enjoy it. Charlie, the chief custodian of Warehouse 13 and general pain in the ass for all the agents he supervised, had been running them ragged lately. Part of Artie knew that it was because the only other agents were tied up in a particularly messy case at the moment, leaving Artie and James to pick up the slack, but that part of him had run out of energy six hours ago.

“Arthur?” James’ voice, sounding far more awake than Artie could tolerate, rang from down the hall.

“In here,” Artie groaned in response, rolling over to sit up. James dragged himself in and collapsed into the bed next to him. “Did you give Charlie the phoenix?”

“Yes.”

“Sad to see it go?”

“Always.”

Artie patted James’ hand. It was an argument James constantly had with Charlie and the Regents; not all of the artifacts needed to be locked away for the good of the world. Some of them should be out _doing_ good in the world. But Warehouse policy was clear on this, and it burned a little bit of James’ trust away with every artifact he had to blindly hand over to them. “I have something that might cheer you up,” Artie said, reaching under the bed.

“Seeing your darling face every day always cheers me up,” James said as he sat up.

“This might be a bit more memorable.” Artie handed him a thin rectangular box with a green bow on top. “I-I-I-I know our anniversary isn’t until next week, and it’s nothing much, but you always go on and on about Japanese culture and I thought that this might be a little something you’d enjoy, and-”

“Arthur,” James said, leaning in to kiss his partner’s stutterings away. “I’m sure I’ll love it.”

Artie readjusted his glasses and shut his mouth.

James opened the box and tissue paper, audibly gasping when he saw the book that lay inside. “The _Sakuteiki_?”

“You said you liked Japanese gardening,” Artie said, pleased with James’ reaction. “Obviously, it’s not the original, but it’s the oldest copy I could find with both the Japanese text and an English translation.”

“I don’t need a translation when I have you,” James said, still slightly in awe of the tome in his hands.

“Well, my classical Japanese might be a bit lacking, it’ll be nice to have a backup in case I’m wrong.”

“You’re never wrong, darling.” James reverently put the book back into the box, wrapping it back up in the tissue. “Does this mean you want your present?”

“What? No, no, this was just-”

But James had already disappeared across the hall to retrieve a brown box of his own.

“Honestly, James, it can wait until next week.”

“Nonsense, we don’t even know where we’ll be next week. Here, open it.”

With just as much care as James had with his box, Artie lifted the lid and peered inside. It was a simple black bag, the kind that was used by doctors back when they still made house calls and traveled by carriages. That on its own would have been enough for Artie, but he knew James better than that. With a critical eye, he asked, "Where did you get this?"

“There are these places in the greater world called shops, and they exchange goods and services for small slips of paper or pressed pieces of metal…”

Artie raised an eyebrow.

"Alright, alright, I found it. And it may have certain.... qualities to it."

"Does Mrs. Frederic know?"

James rolled his eyes. "If you must know, I already received permission from the grand duchess herself, and you have her blessing to use this while we're out on a retrieval.”

“Really?” Artie asked, clearly doubtful.

“Are you questioning my integrity?”

“Of course not, dear. So tell me about this bag.”

"With pleasure." James grabbed a half dozen books from the floor and dumped them inside the bag. "It used to belong to Ellie Morehead, and she, of course, was the aunt of P. L. Travers-"

"The author of Mary Poppins! Of course, this is the bag that inspired Mary Poppins’ carpet bag!" Artie finished gleefully. He peered into the bag and grinned when he saw no books at all. The inside was completely black and empty. But when he reached his hand in, he could feel each and every book - though his hand momentarily disappeared as well. "Do we know how it works?"

"Do we ever?" James scurried around the room, picking up Artie's various files and journals, and tossed them into the bag. "And now, you won't forget something while we're out in the field."

"I never forget things," Artie grumbled absent-mindedly. He was still mesmerized with watching everything disappear into the void the bag contained - until his Farnsworth went off. "Think if we throw it in there, we'll be able to to ignore Charlie?"

"Doubtful, but if you're willing to try...." James smirked, but opened the Farnsworth anyway.

Charlie's balding head scowled from the Warehouse. "We got a ping."  

"But we just came _back_ from one."

"We have plans!"

"Well, cry me a river. Then build yourselves a bridge and get over it," Charlie said. "You're going to Denmark. Something funny's going on there."

“Are you sure it’s not something rotten?” James asked innocently.

“Oh, that was very clever, I never would have thought of that myself,” Charlie deadpanned. “Get to the Warehouse and pick up your files. Now!"

James sighed as they closed the Farnsworth, then picked up his gardening book and slipped it inside Artie’s bag. When Artie looked at him quizzically, he simply said, “a little light reading for the flight.”


	2. Chapter 2

James swung the door open to their rented flat and stepped inside. It turned out that Charlie had a friend who lived in Copenhagen, just outside the main city, and he was willing to lend his flat for a week. It was a decently sized place, certainly bigger and more comfortable than any hotel they would have been able to find. They had a kitchen, a dining table, a living room with a leather sofa - and a quick peek into the bedroom confirmed they had only one bed. Yes, James was quite liking this temporary abode and immediately set about unpacking his things into the bureau in the bedroom.

Artie, on the other hand, seemed to not notice any of it, having stopped only long enough to drop his new bag on the dining table and his suitcase on the floor beneath it. “No, come on, we don’t have time for that!” Artie barked as he pulled James from the bedroom and headed for the door.

“Darling, you look as if you’re ready to drop. I know you didn’t sleep a wink on the plane, just sit for a minute and I’ll make you a cup of coffee.”

“James, if I sit down, I’m never going to get back up.”

“All the more reason to for you to rest a minute here rather than passing out on the streets and forcing me to drag you back here.”

But Artie wasn’t budging. He just wanted to get this retrieval _done_ so that they could go back to the Warehouse and rest. “No, we can get something while we’re out. Come on.”

James swallowed his irritation down, deciding that a shot of caffeine in the city was preferable to a spat right here. “Arthur, _wait_ just a moment.”

“What?!” Artie snapped, turning back around to him.

James held out the black doctor bag to his partner, enjoying the sheepish look that spread across his partner’s face. "After all the trouble I went to in order to get this for you, really, you mustn't forget it."   

Artie looked inside, but again was met with only black. It was both fascinating and disconcerting. "Tesla? Farnsworth?"

"All inside, I assure you. Also, the casefile, your passport, and a few more.... objects that may come in handy."

Artie eyed the bag. "You didn't put in anything.... too bad, right?"

"Of course not. Just a few little trinkets that will make our jobs infinitely easier."

"I suppose it's not that bad then. But next time, check with me first!"

"Yes, my liege," James said with a bow.  

Artie rolled his eyes, but made no further comment and out into the city they went.  


	3. Chapter 3

Their first stop was the library, a large, old building that left Artie and James practically salivating as they entered. The smell, of course, was the first thing that greeted them, the familiar scent of knowledge and decay letting them know that they were indeed in the right place. The circulation desk was only a few yards inside the lobby, but they could see the floor-to-ceiling stacks further on that beckoned to them. Behind the desk, an elderly man, his hair neatly combed and glasses positioned _just_ so on his nose, was demonstrating the sorting procedure to a rather bored looking young woman.

As James and Artie approached the desk, the senior librarian shooed his protege away to finish sorting while he attended the gentlemen. “Hvordan kan jeg hjælpe dig, sirs?”

James stepped forward with his usual charming smile. “I do beg your pardon, my Danish is a bit rusty.”

The librarian seemed pleased, rather than annoyed, at their ignorance. “Ah! In that case, how many I help you?”

“We were hoping to find some guide books of the city.”

“History books, too,” Artie piped up from behind him.

“Out-of-towners, are we?” The librarian - Henrik, according to his name badge - turned towards the card catalog behind him and started pulling out drawers to rifle through the little cards inside. “Dare I hope that the library is your first port of call?”

“Actually, it is,” James said, resting his elbow on the front desk and eager to encourage the slightly flirtatious tone he detected. “It seemed the most logical place to start our grand tour of your fair city. Have you any suggestions for while we’re here?”

While those two prattled on, Artie was busy watching the young woman. The book cart in front of her, easily four foot long with three shelves of books on each side, was utterly packed with books. And yet, she barely looked at each call number as she sorted them, putting them in order as easily as if it were a child’s rainbow puzzle. The job took her no more than a minute, and Artie was sure even an experienced hand would need more time than that to finish the job properly.

Without a second glance at her completed cart, she stood, smoothed out her skirt, and headed for the card catalog. Where her colleague was meandering and lackadaisical, she was quick and precise, opening the exact drawer she wanted to exactly the card she was looking for. Thirty seconds later, she handed Artie a list of call numbers, neatly divided into columns according to their subject. “Here you are,” she smiled and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Between you and me, the old man will be at it for hours if your friend lets him. I can grab these from the stacks for you, if you like. I’ll be back long before he’s paused for breath.”

“No, thank you,” Artie said distractedly as he looked over the list. There was something strange about the messy handwriting scribbled into neat columns, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Not yet, at least. “Maps and newspapers?”

“Newspapers are that way,” she answered, pointing to the right of the circulation desk. “Maps are third floor up, fifteen meters past the water fountain.”

Artie decided to let James check the maps. He started for the newspapers, remembering his bag halfway there. He tossed the list of call numbers inside as he paused at a low coffee table that held an assortment of this morning’s papers. Artie grabbed the most local, least internationally-minded publications he could see. Papers and bag were all then thumped down in the nearest study cubicle as Artie took a seat and pulled the file from Charlie out.

This was a strange case. It wasn’t the most violent or most flamboyant case they’d ever had, and he knew it was far from the most pressing. According to Charlie’s files, there had been a series of strange incidents in Copenhagen, events that didn’t appear to be linked at all. A grade school math competition had a twenty-way tie because they ran out of questions after three hours of trying to break the tie - even breaking out a high school textbook hadn’t helped. There was a series of customers accusing shops of using false weights or rulers. No one had been hurt, let alone killed, and yet here they were, shaking off a second round of jetlag and investigating.

Well, Artie could hardly call it investigating. There were too many witnesses to question, too few obvious links between anything. The competition winners were from different grades, different families, even different neighborhoods. The accused stores had nothing in common except that they used some sort of measuring device - and not even the same kind. One was a sewing supply store that was, apparently, cutting cloth too short, while another was a butcher’s shop on the other side of the city that was mis-weighing their meat cuts. Artie could find any kind of pattern here, and it frustrated him to no end.

That was why he had turned to the morning papers, hoping to find another strange incident that screamed “artifact” to give them some kind of direction. Well, maybe not _screamed_. According to Charlie, they never screamed “artifact,” they just nudged you and said “hey, you wanna see something funny?”

Like the story on page three. A local woman had won a contest where participants were to guess the number of nails in a jar. The odd thing was that she had guessed the exact number. Everyone had attributed to extreme luck, but Artie wasn’t buying it - he was getting better and better at recognizing that nudge.

He spread the various papers out in front of him, trying to see the pattern. “There has to be a connection,” he muttered to himself. “It’s not the location. It’s not the people. What is it?”

“I haven’t the foggiest,” James said behind him.

Artie yelped and nearly shot out of his seat. “Don’t _do_ that!”

James smiled at him beatifically.

“If you’re not going to help, at least-” Artie cut himself off, a look of realization suddenly freezing his face.

James patiently pulled a chair up beside him, waiting for his little king’s mouth to catch up with his abnormally fast brain.

“Maybe it’s not one artifact, maybe it’s multiple artifacts, maybe even-”

“Arthur,” James said, immediately catching on to Artie’s train of thought. “You don’t think...? The lost crates from Warehouse 12?”

“It would explain the range of effects, and why there’s no connection we can find. Copenhagen was a popular shipping lane in those days, it still is, and while it’s a bit out of the way, I’ll admit, it’s possible they’ve found their way here.”

“But that would mean that we have dozens, possibly hundreds of artifacts to track down.”

"Then we’d better get going.” Artie asked as he gathered up his materials, the call number list and his observation this morning completely forgotten. “James?”

"Yes, Arthur?"

"Care for a trip to the docks?"

"Why, I thought you'd never ask." James draped an arm around Artie's shoulders to steer him towards the door. "My friend the librarian was telling me of a lovely cafe overlooking the harbor that I should quite like to stop in at."

"Oh, is he your friend now?"

"Yes, of course. Is that a hint of jealousy I detect?"

"Jealousy?" Artie scoffed. "Why would I be jealous?"

"Why indeed." James leant down and pecked Artie's cheek.


	4. Chapter 4

The harbor area proved surprisingly underwhelming. A heavily industrial area, the only people there were burly dock workers, sailors, and the occasional tourist looking at a bronze mermaid statue that seemed far more impressive in a guidebook than in the flesh. It was busy with life, but it seemed almost automated. They spoke with a few of the dock workers, but none of them could remember any sunken treasure or even semi-mysterious cargo had arrived recently. Everything was its usual, boring self. Certainly, the agents agreed that a huge cache of historically significant objects would at least get _some_ on-lookers, but nothing seemed out of place in the harbor area aside from themselves. They were about to retreat to a little cafe to rethink their original hypothesis when a familiar sound came from Artie’s bag. They ducked around the side of the cafe to huddle over their Farnsworth.

“I’m going to go ahead and guess you two haven’t found the artifact yet,” Charlie said, a permanent frown etched into his face.

“Whatever led you to such an astute deduction? Aside from the fact that it’s barely noon here and we haven’t slept in 36 hours.” James kept the sneer out of his voice, but Artie heard it loud and clear. He couldn’t really blame his parenter, either.

“Another incident popped up, this time at a nearby racecourse. Seems there was a photo finish on one of the races, and some people weren’t happy with the judges’ ruling.”

“That’s hardly news, people are always upset to lose.”

“Except they _didn’t_ lose. They would have won, but instead they kept insisting the judges were wrong.”

“That…. is a bit strange.”

“Ya think? Get over to the racecourse and figure it out before the trail goes cold.” Charlie’s face disappeared from the Farnsworth, and James snapped it shut.

“I’m not going anywhere until I’ve at least had a cup of tea.”

Artie threw the gadget back into his bag and ushered James into the cafe. “Go sit down, I’ll get two.”

James went for a corner table and sat down, watching Artie order at the counter. He could tell his partner was lingering there, trying to strike up a conversation and glean what he could from the barista, a native Dane. But she was having none of Artie’s blundering charm, trying to politely ignore him as she made their teas. While his dearest was a great many things, a natural conversationalist he was not. The wholly awkward sight was enough to sooth James’ frazzled nerves though, and he was almost smiling by the time Artie came back with the tea.

“What’s that smile for?” The rather rotund Warehouse agent asked as he took the chair across from James and set his bag on the one between them.

“You’re far too adorable for words, my darling,” James said as he took a sip of tea. He closed his eyes for the briefest of seconds, letting himself believe for a moment that he was relaxing at home in his armchair, listening to Artie play the piano. As he opened his eyes and rejoined the real world, he put the cup back down, then rifled through Artie’s bag and pulled out two grey bricks to set on the table.

“I am not adorable, and what are those?”

James didn’t say a word and instead motioned for Artie to place a hand on top of one of the stones. After Artie obeyed, James tapped his own fingers on the other stone. “From the Tower of Babel, of course.”

Artie looked at him quizzically before catching on. “Oh! So people can’t understand- very clever. Also, _very_ outside the Warehouse.”

James waved his free hand dismissively. “A detail, and it gets us no closer to the artifact. I’m afraid it’s unlikely to be the lost cargo, my dear.”

“Yes, I think you’re right,” Artie frowned. He had so been hoping they would be the ones to retrieve the legendary artifacts, to forever write their names in Warehouse history as the most successful artifact retrieval agents, but it seemed that title would be earned another day. He pulled out the casefile and newspaper clippings again, adding a notepad and pen to the already crowded table. “But what about the racecourse? There must be something we’re missing…”

James leaned back in his chair, letting his partner mutter away to himself as he tried to puzzle things out. Artie had a wonderfully brilliant mind, but he was far more scattered-brained than James. The papers and hastily scribbled notes all over the table underlined this. He would never try to change Artie and his ways, but the constant mess was exhausting to his own psyche. He preferred a more ordered method of observation, and while Artie kept pouring over the words on the page, James looked around the cafe to try and draw his own conclusions.

There was a bulletin board near the counter with various fliers for concerts, art exhibitions, even a temporary exhibit on astronomy at one of the many museums in the city. The barista was trying to open a new box of teabags, much to James' disappointment. As a native Brit, few things were more abhorrent to him than bagged tea. He liked the order, the ritual that came through brewing a proper cup of tea. Even simply walking through the motions mentally helped to calm him and focus his mind on the case at hand.

Where Arthur looked for codes, James looked for connections. How odd, it seemed to him, that gamblers at the racecourse would seem to know the result of the race better than even the officials. Much like it was odd children were answering math questions several grades above their own in a competition and that so many shops had been accused of cheating their customers. But what was their connection with one another?

He went back to the very basics of the case. It had nothing to do with the who or the where of the facts, there was too much disparity amongst them all. He wasn’t even entirely sure the various hows linked up with one another, they seemed to be equally random-

"It's the numbers," James said suddenly.

"Hmmm?" Artie eloquently asked, glancing up from his latest cipher.

“Don’t you see?” James pointed to each of the news clippings. “All the strange events have to do with numbers. The race finish, the math competition, the fraudulent measurements, even the counting contest. Wonderful catch on that, by the way, I doubt I would have noticed.”

“Of course! The _numbers_! To the racecourse then?"

"On the contrary, my dear, I highly doubt a bunch of school-aged children would have taken a trip to the racecourse. However, there's no shortage of museums in this fair city."

"And museums are magnets for artifacts." Artie wasted no time in shoving all the papers back into his bag, along with the Babel stones. "Have one particular in mind?"

"Actually, yes. There's a little museum dedicated to Arabic art-"

"The Arabic numerals, of course!"

"Precisely. It would also explain why only some in the city are reacting to this. Anyone who visited the museum would have been exposed - and I think it's safe to say that the artifact doesn't require tangency, for it seems unlikely that children would be allowed to handle anything of such a great age."

Artie stopped and stared at his partner, his voice filled with wonder. "Do you realize how old this artifact could be? It could be up to 2,000 years old, older than the Warehouse itself."

James gave him a dubious look. "That's a bit generous, don't you think? Our first full record of the numerals isn't until 825 AD, the time of the sixth Warehouse. It's not even attested to in Europe until 926!"

"But it could be related to the Brahmi numerals, which date as far back as third century BC-"

"Which, I might add, hardly predates the first Warehouse, as Alexander himself founded it back in the _fourth_."

Still arguing, they made their way outside towards the heart of the city and the David Samling.


	5. Chapter 5

Four floors of museum exhibits later, they still had no artifact. Artie cursed the museum’s lack of elevators as he slowly made his way down the stairs again to head back outside. It was almost evening by then, the streets filled with people leaving work or hurrying to squeeze in one last errand or strolling along to find a spot for dinner. The agents claimed a park bench facing the David and revisited their initial hypothesis.

“It _has_ to be number related,” James insisted, reaching into Artie’s bag to draw out two cookies. He handed one to Artie.

“Yes, of course it is, but it has to be more spe- where did you get that?”

James smiled secretively. “Surely you’ve discovered the bottomless cookie jar by now?”

“The Toll House one? Of course. But I thought it only gave out chocolate chip - which is good if you can’t live without them, but everyone needs at least a _little_ variety. I could understand if it was just sugar cookies, or maybe shortbread cookies, you can add things to those to-”

“Arthur,” James gently interrupted. “This isn’t the Toll House cookie jar.”

“It isn’t?” Artie reached into the bag and pulled out a plain, brown ceramic cookie jar. A far cry from the bright yellow rectangular tin he was expecting. “What is it?”

“I made it myself.”

“You _made_ \- how did you make it?”

“If you are King Arthur, then I am your Merlin, and I shan’t reveal all my magical secrets.”

Artie, duly impressed, put the jar back inside the bag. After taking another handful. “I suppose that explains the oatmeal scotchies. And you know, I wasn’t the one who came up with that ridiculous nickname, that was all you.”

“That doesn’t make it any less fitting. Now, what were you saying about the numbers?”

“It’s definitely number related, but it has to be more specific than that. The effect is too vague, it needs…” Artie trailed off. “Accuracy.”

“Yes, I suppose it does need a bit-”

“Nonono, the artifact, it provides _accuracy_. The math competition, the problems were too advanced for half of them, so they guessed _accurately_. The counting contest, the same thing. The measurements - even the librarian this morning!”

“What about the librarian this morning?”

“The woman, she was organizing a bunch of books, but she was doing it too quickly. And here, look.” Artie reached into his bag and pulled out the list of call numbers from this morning. “Look at this. The books we asked for, neatly organized but the handwriting is terrible. I don’t think someone whose lists are this orderly would have handwriting that’s all over the place. Or, for that matter, someone with handwriting that messy to have perfect columns like that.”

“Yes, I dare say you would know a thing or two about that,” James teased.

Artie glared, but continued on. “This artifact, it makes the person incredibly accurate!”

Now it was James’ turn to realize something. “That ties in with what the _other_ librarian was telling me.”

Artie didn’t even have space to be jealous, too caught up in the thrill of the discovery to care. “What? What did he tell you?”

“Do you know Copenhagen has Europe’s oldest functioning observatory?”

Artie gave him an expectant look.

“Christian IV built it back in 1637, dedicating it to the memory of Tycho Brahe-”

“The astronomer who was the first to make extremely _accurate_ astronomical and planetary measurements! Of course, he still thought the universe was geocentric, but we can’t all be perfect.”

“Speak for yourself. Did you know, that Tower is still in use-”

“I would assume that’s what oldest _functioning_ observatory meant…”

“Hush. The Rundetaarn is still in use, hosting various exhibitions throughout the year. And they currently have one on Brahe himself - Henrik hadn’t been yet, but he’d been so looking forward to it. Fancy a trip?”

Artie grabbed one last cookie before he snapped his bag shut. “After you.”


	6. Chapter 6

The exhibition hall of the Rundetaarn was only two-thirds up the the height of the spire, but the climb still left Artie a little breathless. At least no one else was in the exhibit to witness his pitiful ascent.

“Cheer up, Arthur, it could have been worse,” James said helpfully as he began examining the objects on display. There was a large collection of astronomical instruments, some charts and journals, even a set of swords. But nothing yet struck him as an artifact - not the type they were interested in, at least.

“Exactly _how_ could it be worse?” Artie settled himself down on a bench in an alcove towards the middle of the exhibit, stretching his legs out in front of him. Far too much walking for one day.

“That ramp could have been stairs.”

Artie groaned at the thought.

“I told you, you should have walked closer to the middle, it would have saved you a considerable distance.”

“183 meters, to be exact.”

James paused in his search and turned to look at his partner.

“What? Along the outer edge, it’s 268.5 meters, along the inner, 85.5. It’s a simple- _oh_.” Artie started glancing at the objects around him, trying to see what could possibly be the artifact. “James, I think I’ve been affected.”

“Indeed you have, my dear.” James nearly flew across the room towards him, cataloguing the objects nearest his partner. “Stay right where you are.”

Artie reached into his bag and drew out a static bag and two pairs of purple gloves, pulling the first pair on. “How tall is the tower?”

“Roughly 40 meters, I’d say.” Still an estimate; not close to the artifact then. He breezed past the copper plates.

“How far away is City Hall?”

“Less than a kilometer, I’d say closer to three quarters of one.” Closer to the artifact, too.

“Diameter of the observatory?”

“6 meters, almost exactly.”

Artie and James stared at the glass case James was now standing next to.

“His nose!” they cried in unison.

“He lost his real one in a sword duel in 1566, and has to wear a prosthetic one for the rest of his life,” Artie said as he hurried over to hand James the other pair of gloves.

James snapped them on. “There’s been many theories and rumors about what it was actually made of. Silver, gold, copper… I suppose we are about to find out.”

“But how are we going to get it out?” Artie frowned as he looked the display case over. “Breaking the glass will be too obvious.”

“Open your bag, darling, I have just the thing.”

Artie eyed him warily but opened the bag for James to rifle around inside. “I’m starting to think this _isn’t_ Ellie Morehead’s bag and instead is directly linked to the Warehouse so it can give you whatever you like.”

“Shhh, mustn’t jinx it,” James grinned and pulled out a small bottle of black ink. “Francois Villon’s inkwell.”

“The French medieval poet?”

“And thief - this little bottle made him a wonderfully effective burglar, but unfortunately, it couldn’t save his literary career.” James opened the bottle and splashed some ink on the glass. He counted five seconds off on his fingers, then reached through the ink spot as if it was a hole in the glass. He plucked the nose off its pedestal, then withdrew his hand and grabbed the static bag. “Cover your eyes, my little lord.”

Artie turned his head away, waiting for the sparks and sizzle that let him know the artifact had been neutralized. As soon as he was certain the coast was clear, he looked at the nose in the bag. “Looks like the copper theorists were right.”

James’ eyebrows furrowed with concern, worried the artifact hadn’t let go of Artie yet. “How do you know?”

Artie gave him a look. “Because I know what oxidized copper looks like, I’m _fine_.”

James looked vaguely insulted. “One can never be too careful, see if I ever waste my sympathy on you again.”

It was Artie’s turn to smile smugly. “Of course you will.”


	7. Chapter 7

When they finally dragged their weary bones back to their little flat that night, the prosthetic nose safely tucked inside Artie’s bag, they immediately collapsed on the leather sofa, coats and all. Artie rested his head on James’ shoulder and closed his eyes, smiling when he felt James reach over to squeeze his hand. He was debating whether they should just fall asleep like this or try to summon enough energy to make it to bed when his bag started screeching.

The Farnsworth.

Artie quickly jerked his head up and scrambled to get it while James groaned.

“Can’t he give us five minutes of peace?” he whined.

Artie didn’t say anything, just opened up the Farnsworth to get this over with.

“So, decided to skip the racecourse, huh?” Charlie asked, deceptively pleasant in his tone.

“Actually, we-” Artie started, but James cut him off.

“Actually, we did drop in there, but we arrived there too late to be of any use, I’m afraid. They’d carted the brawlers off already and the race officials didn’t give us anything useful. We’ll try again tomorrow, Charlie, have no fear.”

“Is that so?” Charlie asked, not believing James for a second and instead focusing his gaze on Artie.

Artie nodded dumbly in agreement.

“Yes, it is. Goodnight, Charlie, we’ll contact you again when we have the artifact.” James immediately shut the Farnsworth and tossed it back into Artie’s bag.

Artie leaned forward and dropped the bag on the coffee table. “But we _have_ the artifact,” he pointed out as he settled back into his partner.

“Yes, and according to Charlie, we have the flat as well. For a week.”

“We still need to get the artifact back to the Warehouse before-”

“Before it what? Gives a few students the correct answer on a test? This isn’t like the Collodi bracelet, it’s not going to rot someone’s soul.”

“But every artifact-”

“Every artifact has a downside, yes. I know. I highly doubt that rule is 100% accurate, but for sake of argument, let’s say it is. We have yet to see an obvious downside from this particular one, we have snagged not one but two artifacts in less than 48 hours, one of which is in the Warehouse and the other which is safely in our keeping, and I believe that we have earned a short holiday as a result of this. We have a perfectly lovely flat at our disposal, and it seems rather a shame to waste it.”

Artie sighed. “I suppose we can have a _few_ days off. And anyway, we need to replace the nose with a fake, I’m sure they’ll have realized it’s missing by now.”

“See? Yet another reason we must stay a little longer.”

Artie shifted forward again to get off the couch.

“And just where do you think you’re going?”

“To unpack. If we’re going to stay-”

“Oh no,” James said, reaching out to stop him and pull him into a tight embrace. “It’s been a long day, we’re both tired, and I haven’t had a proper kiss off you all day. You can unpack tomorrow.”

Artie sank back against his partner and took a moment to just breathe. The last few days had been so busy that, even though they had spent nearly every second together, it felt as if they hadn’t seen each other at all. Chasing after an artifact, while fun, wasn’t always the quality time they needed. And now they had a chance for just that. Their anniversary was next week, something Artie had never really expected to celebrate at any point in his life. The Warehouse had a habit of taking over your life, and having someone to share it with made it that much better - but only if you remembered to stop and share it every now and then.

“Arthur, you’re thinking too hard.”

“James, I’m hungry.”

A quiet chuckle escaped James’ lips and he forced himself to his feet. “I’ll go order something, I’m famished as well. Oh, and Arthur?”

“Yes, James?”

“Do keep that bag of yours handy. I have a few surprises in there for you…”


End file.
